Extra Credit 2

Zoe's mouth is stretched wide around the black ball gag, leather straps biting into her cheeks. She kneels on Professor Comet's office floor, wrists pulled behind her back in tight rope. The blindfold sits heavy across her eyes, turning everything black. Every breath through her nose is loud in the quiet room. He walks around her in slow circles, the click of his shoes the only warning before his hand grips her hair and yanks her head back. Her back arches, nipples tight from the sudden stretch. He trails his fingers down her throat, over her collarbone, then slaps the side of her breast hard enough to make the flesh jump. Zoe flinches but stays upright. A thin line of spit leaks past the gag and drips onto her bare stomach. He catches it with two fingers, wipes it across her lower lip, then slides those same fingers between her legs without asking. She is already wet. He laughs once, low, and presses two knuckles hard against her clit until her thighs shake. The ropes creak when she tries to close her legs. Another slap, this time across her face, the sound sharp in the small room. He doesn't speak. He doesn't have to. Every time she whimpers he rewards her with another stroke, another slow circle, then stops right when her hips start to rock. She learns the lesson in silence: stay still, stay quiet, wait for permission. Her cunt throbs. Her jaw aches. The blindfold is damp where tears have gathered at the edges. Professor Comet steps back, unbuckles his belt, and she tilts her head toward the sound, mouth full, body offered, waiting for the next command.